Feeding Time

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
my 3rd horror novel enjoy

Submitted: April 08, 2017

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Submitted: April 08, 2017

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I woke suddenly.  Blinking, bleary-eyed and fuzzy-headed.  It took me a moment to focus.
The baby was crying again.  Hungry again.  I glanced at the clock but there had been another power cut while I was asleep.  Four zeros blinked at me uncertainly.  I scrabbled on the bedside cabinet for my mobile phone, but knocked the TV remote instead.  It fell onto the floor and the set blazed into life.
More news reports.  They're never seemed to be anything else on these days.  Damned Zombie Apocalypse.  More reports that the government had it under control.  That it was merely a few isolated incidents.  If that was the case, then why were they still broadcasting live updates at... I blinked at the screen... 3.45 am.
I blinked at Suzie, my wife.  Who was lying next to me as she stirred restlessly in her sleep.  She was exhausted.  Pale and drawn.  But for the tinge of pink in her cheeks, she might have well been a zombie herself.
The baby was everything to her.  After an exhausting 23 hour labor, I had watch her face fall after the doctors declared the baby stillborn.  Watched the light of denial, fervent and insane, creep into her eyes.  I never wanted to see that expression on her face again.  I would do anything not to have to see it again.
But then the baby had kicked and cried out.  Against all the doctor's protest and precautions, we took the baby there and then.  Brought it here, brought it home.
The baby cried out again, bringing me back to the present with a crash.  I rolled out of my warm, comfortable bed and went to see to it.  I opened the mini fridge that we ran just for the baby bottles, but it was empty.  I sighed.  It was going to be one of those nights.
I picked the baby out of its cot.  It wriggled and cried out, but quieter now.  It knew the routine as well as I did by now.  Out in the corridor, I opened the cellar door one handed and fumbled for the light switch.  I carried it downstairs and placed it in the playpen whiles I prepared to make up the bottles.  In the harsh artificial light, baby's skin took on a grayish tinge.
I pulled the spare bottles out of the sterilizer, lined them up and turned on the food processor.  The baby gurgled in delight.
Then I opened the larder door.  The young woman looked terrified.  She was gagged and bound; hand and foot.  Her eyes were huge with fear.  I hefted the ax, and whispered softly to her.  “Sorry, but baby's hungry”.


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